


better judgment

by delia_ashes



Series: Essek AU [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, F/F, Fluff, Gen or Pre-Slash, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied Relationships, Introspection, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, POV Essek Thelyss, also, at all, i guess?, i wrote this pre-episode 97, minor stalking behavior?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23695732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delia_ashes/pseuds/delia_ashes
Summary: It was truly against his better judgment to be here.But an invisible Essek Thelyss let his levitation drop for once, his legs wobbly and frail as he maneuvered into a sitting position on a rocky outcropping not far from the campsite of the defectors known (apparently) as the Mighty Nein.Or: Essek may be an idiot, but he's a perceptive idiot and I want to depict wholesome campfire scenes.
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett
Series: Essek AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706458
Comments: 7
Kudos: 142





	better judgment

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I am sorta new here; this is my first published work so be gentle please. Also, please enjoy Essek Thelyss being a whipped idiot, because this fandom needs more fluffy, mindless content in which we tastefully explore a scenario, now an AU, that I conceived long before the events of episode 97 in order to cope with our mute shock and vague sense of anxiety and dread. Or maybe that's just me. In any case, here we go—

It was _truly_ against his better judgment to be here.

But an invisible Essek Thelyss let his levitation drop for once, his legs wobbly and frail as he maneuvered into a sitting position on a rocky outcropping not far from the campsite of the defectors known (apparently) as the Mighty Nein. He told himself it was for the espionage value, that he _had_ been told to spy on this particular mission and the group at large, that it was necessary to see the group dynamic at moments when they were relatively at ease, that he had gotten his job by being thorough and clever, noticing and using what others deemed unimportant, and wasn't about to start slacking now.

Really, it was useful to know how they worked like this: it was valuable insight on the group dynamic to see the routine they slipped into as the sun set, a bit at odds with the rather spectacular chaos and disorganization of their daily escapades. Honestly, it was a miracle they were all alive; Essek had seen them fight and it was a clusterfuck, had seen them argue and that was an issue all of its own. They made it work somehow—made it work _well_ , achieving things that should have been far, far out of their league. But now they settled into what was obviously a bit of a ritual, their movements practiced, even scripted.

It was an important insight, to know that the bedrolls were laid out in some unspoken, predetermined order (Clay-Fjord-Jester-Nott-Widogast-Beauregard-Yasha).

Essek told himself it was important to catalog the way the giant—Yasha—sat at the edge of the group, occasionally contributing a joke or a chuckle at someone else's, mostly just looking out over her compatriots like she couldn't quite believe they were real.

The way the firbolg made tea from a kettle he carried on his back, passed cups around to the whole group, and the way every last one of them accepted, the way the tightness in their shoulders eased and they seemed to release, one by one, a collective deep breath.

The little tiefling girl was also a cleric, Essek was fairly sure, if her ramblings about some enigmatic Traveler were any indication. Normally she seemed a bit self-centered, but Essek marked the way Jester cast a sweeping gaze over the group, marking who was still tense, who looked most troubled.

It turned out to be Clay himself, and Jester flounced toward him, overly cheerful, and said something likely silly and undoubtedly antagonistic. The firbolg laughed out loud, and then gave her a quiet, knowing look. She just kissed his cheek, pointed something out on his teacup, and bombarded him with a few more excited questions before walking back to her bedroll. Fjord eventually moved over to Clay as well, and the two sat in silence for a while, sipping tea, connected by some wordless understanding.

The monk who took such pains to muss her appearance, who turned her vestments inside out so as not to seem officious—she disrobed with practiced, trained efficiency, folded her garments to militaristic, perfect corners, laid everything out in a neat stack beside her bedroll, and, clad in her undergarments, utterly unselfconscious, sat casually in lotus near the fire for more than half an hour (Essek's knees throbbed just thinking about it, but she seemed completely comfortable), writing in a myriad of notebooks, an epicenter of stillness amidst the flurry of activity around her.

It did not escape his attention, either, that Beauregard averted her eyes with a blush as Jester shamelessly stripped to change into her nightgown, that afterward, she cast quick, flickering glances at her animated form as Jester moved over to chat with Nott. After a brief, blank moment, Beau simply shook her head and went back to stoking the fire.

The goblin, usually so vicious and abrasive, practically fussed over the group, Jester and Widogast especially, helping the tiefling remove and untangle her jewelry, speaking quietly with the wizard as she combed out the snarls in his hair.

And Widogast himself was in orbit, concentric circles, first a silver thread around the whole of the campsite, then a set of runes closer within—the dome shimmered into existence, transparent tonight; since they were on a plain an opaque shape would be more noticeable than their prone bodies, laid out in the tall grasses. And a subtler circuit from Caleb too: his familiar (a delightful little creature, even Essek had to admit) padded around the group, winding through feet, pushing into hands. The creature certainly wasn't starved for attention, the various members of the group generous with scritches and quiet praise. Comfort, the only way Widogast knew how to provide it.

Once the dome was up, the activity didn't abate, the group seemingly too wired after the events of the day to sleep just yet. The clerics moved to the more injured group members, not many spells left to them for the day, but once their supply was exhausted Jester's hands remained deft with a needle and thread, and Clay's were still careful and steady as he applied bandages and poultices. Essek was once again struck by their surprising endurance. It was easy to forget that they had journeyed into Xhorhas through the _tunnels_ without a guide or allies or connections, knowing they might be killed on sight, for the slim hope of rescuing the goblin's husband. The simple firbolg, the childish tiefling, the quiet wizard and the charming half-orc and the deadly goblin and the fierce giant and the abrasive monk—they had more to them than met the eye. Essek told himself that that was why he stayed.

But if he were being honest with himself, it was the way they moved together, the dance of them, the soul-deep bonds none of them seemed to actually acknowledge, the ferocity and fire with which they _lived_. It was remarkable—they were remarkable, and Essek had never resented his job, had always counted himself lucky to have it, but he could not help wondering what it might be like, to be a part of that dance.

To let Nott scrub dirt off the side of his face.

To laugh with Jester, not bothering to hide the way the tiefling never failed to amuse him.

To talk with Fjord about magic or life or whoever he had been before the Nein.

To help Clay make tea, perhaps see if the healer—or his goddess—knew anything about fixing his useless legs.

(He didn't think they would, but... Clay might be able to help him accept it.)

To spar with Beauregard, not with weapons or magic, but with words—to work that sharp mind of hers, push her, figure out what she could piece together from all those notes.

To sit with Yasha and appreciate what they had found, the life that, despite its hardships, was somehow quite beautiful.

And to keep teaching Caleb Widogast, to talk with him about the intricacies of magic, to get lost in theory and learning and the sheer thrill of matching wits with a mind just as sharp, just as fierce as his own. To maybe flip his bedroll out next to Caleb's at night.

(Clay-Fjord-Jester-Nott-Caleb-Essek-Beauregard-Yasha?)

It would be a life that was wholly beneath him. Their youth, and disastrousness, and the conditions in which they lived ( _bedrolls_ on the _ground_ , Luxon's sake) were wholly beneath him.

But gods, it didn't sound like such a bad way to live.

Would they accept him? He thought they might. They were closed off, yes, and deeply mistrusting, but he thought he may have surprised them these last few weeks, and they could be strangely caring. And they could trust Essek, even if they didn't know the extent to which he had backed them up. Yes, he was sent to spy, but there was... much he had neglected to report. No, they would not betray information to the Empire. No, they were not a liability if they were to be sent on missions for the Empire. That was really all his superiors needed to know, and some of the other details—their loyalties, their end goals... weren't important.

They were not a threat to the Dynasty—of this Essek was convinced. And they were remarkable and entertaining and bright, and oddly inspiring. So he would report only the parts of the truth that were necessary. He'd help them. They were somehow... worth that.

Yes, it was against his better judgment to be here. But as his eyes snagged again on the auburn head and quiet smile currently murmuring softly with Beau, as Caleb's gods-damned cat purred affectionately into Caduceus's hand, he found he couldn't move away.

**Author's Note:**

> Uh, hi again! Thanks for reading, friend; hope you enjoyed. (healthy) criticism and (truthful) validation are equally appreciated!


End file.
